Magnus was ready. He deflected the strike easily, his own sword moving up in a counter that forced Conall back. They began to circle each other, weapons raised.
"She was never yers," Magnus said, his voice low and dangerous. "From the moment ye treated her like property instead of a person, ye lost any claim tae her. And when ye tried tae use her against me, when ye endangered her life fer yer own gain, ye sealed yer fate."
"Big words from a man everyone thinks is a wife-killer." Conall's smile was vicious. "How long before ye dae tae her what ye did tae the first one? How long before?—"
Magnus struck.
Ada gasped as his sword became a blur of motion, striking so fast and hard that Conall barely had time to defend. They fought through the smoke and flames, blades clashing with sharp rings that made Ada's ears hurt.
Her father was good, better than she'd expected. But Magnus was better. And there was something in the way he fought now,a focused fury that made every strike count, every movement deliberate.
He was fighting for her. Ada could see it in every line of his body, hear it in the way he breathed, feel it in the air between them.
Magnus's blade swept past Conall's guard, caught him across the ribs. Blood bloomed dark against his shirt. Her father stumbled, gasped. Magnus pressed forward, his strikes coming faster now. Harder.
"Ye should have loved her," Magnus said, his voice cold as winter. "Should have protected her. Should have been the faither she deserved instead of a monster."
"She—is—" Conall panted between deflections, "just—a tool?—"
"She is yer daughter!" Magnus roared.
His next strike shattered Conall's guard completely. The older man's sword went flying, landing in the dirt several feet away. Her father stumbled, fell to his knees.
Magnus's blade came to rest at his throat.
For a moment, they froze. Her father staring up at Magnus with fury and fear in his eyes. Magnus staring down, his chest heaving, every muscle trembling.
Ada found her voice. "Magnus."
He didn't look at her. Didn't take his eyes off her father. "He tried tae kill ye."
"I ken." Ada pushed herself to her feet, moved closer despite the trembling in her legs.
"He used ye. Hurt ye. Was willin' tae sacrifice ye fer power."
"I ken that too." Ada's hand touched his arm gently. She could feel the tension in him, the rage barely held in check. "But if ye kill him like this—when he's unarmed, on his knees—ye'll regret it. Ye're nae a murderer, Magnus. Dinnae let him make ye into one."
Magnus's jaw clenched. "He daesnae deserve mercy."
"Nay. He daesnae." Ada moved around to stand beside him, her hand still on his arm. "But we dae. We deserve tae nae have his death on our consciences. Tae nae let him poison what we've built taegether, nae when the king can use it against us."
She saw the conflict in Magnus's eyes, saw him warring with himself. Saw the moment he made his decision.
"Ye're right," Magnus said quietly. "He daesnae deserve mercy."
His blade moved.
One clean strike. Fast and efficient. Her father's eyes went wide, his hands coming up to clutch uselessly at the wound in his throat. Blood spilled between his fingers, dark and terrible.
Conall MacTavish collapsed forward, dead before he hit the ground.
CHAPTER 35
Ada couldn't stop staring at the body.
Her father— Laird Conall MacTavish, the man who'd given her life—lay crumpled in the dirt like discarded refuse. His eyes were still open, staring sightlessly at the smoke-filled sky. Blood had pooled beneath him, dark and spreading, soaking into the earth.
He was really dead.
